


Stranger Next Door

by ltgmars



Category: TOKIO, V6
Genre: Drama, Gen, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1543484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ltgmars/pseuds/ltgmars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>News travels fast in a small town. When talk of a newcomer starts to make the town's residents uneasy, Sakamoto takes it upon himself to get to the bottom of things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranger Next Door

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://clipsie.livejournal.com/profile)[**clipsie**](http://clipsie.livejournal.com/) during [](http://je-squickfic.livejournal.com/profile)[**je_squickfic**](http://je-squickfic.livejournal.com/) 2013, originally posted [here](http://je-squickfic.livejournal.com/38699.html). Thanks to my betas, [](http://faded-lace.livejournal.com/profile)[**faded_lace**](http://faded-lace.livejournal.com/) and [](http://lysanderpuck.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lysanderpuck.livejournal.com/)**lysanderpuck** , for being so confused by the original draft that I had no choice but to tighten it up and actually make it make sense.

They meet in the park because he doesn't know Kokubun that well, despite the small size of their town and the relative friendliness of its residents. It's his way of keeping things professional, of making sure the investigation maintains that critical, impersonal distance. Plus, it gives Kokubun a space to lay his thoughts out before conveying them in words, which will ultimately help in putting the pieces together.

Sakamoto waits until Kokubun looks like he's settled, eyes soft and unsure against the hard bench they're sitting on. Those eyes look out of place on him, and Sakamoto guesses that Kokubun isn't usually a timid person, wonders not for the first time what it is about this case that's got the whole town shaken up. Kokubun clears his throat and nods, more to himself than at Sakamoto, and he begins to talk.

~

A newcomer has come to town, and for a town of a few hundred people, every newcomer is like a celebrity on stage, singing and dancing alone in front of a crowd of thousands. They don't get newcomers that often, but when they do, they're friendly and gracious, amicable, open. They fit right in.

The latest newcomer is different, though. The biggest difference is that no one knows who he is or what he does. They don't see him leaving any residential areas in the morning, and there haven't been any new hires in any of the local businesses. They can't describe his face or voice, just his general stature: tall and lean, wearing a long coat. The prevailing theory is that he isn't actually a newcomer to their town; he's simply a visitor from the big city down the way, who comes by every once in a while for some unknown reason, leaving as quickly and quietly as he's arrived.

Sakamoto Masayuki is the face of the evening news, and consequently the one man everyone in town knows they can talk to. For a small, friendly town like theirs, the residents mostly keep to themselves, and the most confiding that happens outside of their own homes is with the one man who knows everything, who'll be the easiest to find and has the most to lose if he ever betrays the town's trust.

The first account comes from one of the younger residents, the novice evening news anchor who left for Tokyo to go to university but came back to town soon after. Sakurai mentions it in passing when they've hit a commercial break as he scans the text on the teleprompter about the next segment they'll be introducing. Maybe it's just because he's kind of a newcomer himself, unused to being back in the suffocatingly small town where everyone watched him grow up, raised him as their own, but he notices quickly when something is out of place: an unfamiliar figure walking down the street some nights ago, shoulders too stiff, strides too deliberate. He's not a man from around here, Sakurai confides, and the way Sakurai's eyebrows are etched together makes it clear that he doesn't know how he's supposed to react.

Sakamoto nods and quietly thanks him for the information. The staff on set count down the seconds till they're back on the air, and Sakamoto straightens his back and smiles for the camera.

~

What they currently know about the man is sparse at best, but it's invariably the same information: tall, lean, stiff, unfamiliar. Sakamoto finds little of interest there as a journalist, and in interviewing eye-witnesses, he searches, however futilely, for more concrete clues on what the newcomer could be up to -- what his business is and whom he actually comes into contact with. Unfortunately, no such information exists. The town citizens only ever see him in passing, or in the shadows going from one unidentified place to another. Still no word on his face or any other identifying features. In fact, the newcomer's facelessness is so ubiquitous in accounts that Sakamoto has stopped asking about it; interviews about the newcomer come with the implicit understanding that he was only seen from afar, or at an angle, or with his face obstructed, or otherwise with no real information to actually be useful.

There's something disconcerting about it. People give him information under the guise of helping, but no one seems too convinced of what they're saying, like they're reciting lines from a script just to say that they contributed before sliding out of Sakamoto's life again. Sakamoto would appreciate the support more if it didn't feel like no one was really on his side.

Sakamoto has never quite felt comfortable in the town anyway. Maybe it's something about how uniform everything is, almost supernaturally so, like a curse. Houses lined up with no real purpose but to pretend to be a part of the same neighborhood, smiles too pleasant to mean anything beyond the movement of muscles that go behind them. All the notes and mentions in passing he's received about the newcomer are the same, eerily the same, like everyone had come together for a debriefing about the newcomer that he wasn't invited to.

The only thing Sakamoto finds useful at this point are the interviews that stand out. Most residents relay their information to him with quiet, determined urgency, like they're whispering the latest town gossip rather than assisting in an investigation, but there are the occasional outliers -- like Kokubun, who had seemed completely uncomfortable with talking at all, as if he hated not being able to say more. The real, meaningful interviews pepper the town lineup with a taste of the story Sakamoto would rather chase, the one where he figures out what's really going on with the newcomer.

~

Inohara's home is cozy and familiar in a way Sakamoto hasn't felt for some time. He had left his parents' home years ago, escaping the world of greengrocery in favor of something a little more stimulating. What he lost in abandoning a physical home he gained in his attitude toward the world at large: each street corner a classroom, each gnarled tree and green spread of plain a playground to explore. But there in a stranger-friend's home, Sakamoto sees along the walls of the house the traces of what he'd left behind -- snapshots of happiness, baby's first stupid steps away from the two who would gladly pledge their lives to protecting him. Sakamoto knows better now -- there's nothing wrong with staying with what's familiar when there's no guarantee that the unknown will be much better. If someone had told Sakamoto two decades ago that seeing the world would mean answering to it, taking in all its darkness and leaving behind any semblance of his own optimistic humanity, Sakamoto wouldn't have believed him. Or maybe he would have, and he wouldn't be where he is today. But there's nothing he can do about it now.

Inohara welcomes Sakamoto in, taking his coat and apologizing for the flagrant violation of Sakamoto's rule of keeping his investigations impersonal -- Asaka is away for the week at a class reunion, so Inohara needs to stay in the house to keep an eye on their son. It isn't quite envy that Sakamoto feels, but the cup of tea Inohara offers him is unlike anything Sakamoto's ever had before. It's steaming with real warmth and safety and family. It's not something he'll ever have in this town outside of a home like this.

Inohara's eyes crinkle into satisfied little lines, his mouth curved up in a quiet smile even as he describes his encounter with the newcomer, and Sakamoto is amazed that even during such a dark and serious conversation, Inohara's smile doesn't falter. Maybe it's his security blanket for times he knows will be rough; even if there's a stranger in town who's putting everyone on edge, at least Inohara has his family. There's genuine love in that house. That's a support system the rest of them lack.

~

The data Sakamoto gathers he shares with the town police department's captain, Yamaguchi, a small but sturdy man who seems to have a vague and passing interest in justice. There's really no need for a police department in their town -- the residents keep themselves in check to an alarming degree -- but it gives Sakamoto a sense of town organization, if nothing else. Sharing his findings, however monotonous they are, with another town official makes it feel like he isn't just working in a vacuum. After all, it's easy in this town to feel your individuality being sucked away.

~

He meets up with Joshima at a small family restaurant they frequented as high school students, back before Sakamoto escaped the town just to be dragged back in again. Back then, they had ordered whatever fried foods they could digest, just to fill their bellies with enough sustenance to support the wild dreams they had of leaving. Joshima had never made it out, staying in town even after his parents' divorce to open a small music store, and Sakamoto's success in leaving was equally as apparent by his humbling return. Like their big talk, the fried food only served to make them feel better momentarily before they fell back onto a less glamorous plane of reality.

They enjoy the company, though, ragging on each other about getting married to mask the reality that they won't be meeting anyone anytime soon in their little town. They'd met just the other day to drink their nothing lives away, but today the topic turns toward Sakamoto's current pet investigation.

Joshima's account doesn't vary much from the others Sakamoto has heard up until then: a tall, lean figure whose name and face and business no one knows, but who's shown up every now and then just to disappear again. It would easily be explained away as a man from the neighboring city coming to down every once in a while, but it's the town's unspoken rule to entertain the possibility of something beyond logic at work. Joshima agrees, though, that the newcomer's lack of contact with anyone seems like a cause for concern; in a town this small, it shouldn't take this long for Sakamoto to find someone who has spoken to the newcomer. Maybe no such person actually exists.

Then comes an offer that Sakamoto doesn't expect: Joshima will do everything he can to help in the investigation. It's visibly taking a toll on Sakamoto, he explains, referring to the way Sakamoto's gotten a little wiry since word about the newcomer hit town. And sure enough, Sakamoto has felt it, too -- he's lost his assured gait, ever aware of the eyes that follow him, the people waiting their turn to shuffle up to him and tell him what they know, insist that he get to the bottom of things. Paranoia has eclipsed the town's typically sunny nature, and all Sakamoto can do is hope that it passes over them soon.

Joshima decides that it's time to get some drinks. They'll call on Kokubun, which will give Sakamoto the opportunity to get to know him better. He's a good drinking buddy, Joshima insists, sharp-witted and critical while maintaining a teasing friendliness. Sakamoto welcomes the thought of having another drinking buddy who isn't afraid to be himself. The curse of this town and their residents means that even their drinking patterns are uniform, a couple of drinks and pleasantries, nothing more. Sakamoto has a couple hundred drinking acquaintances, but the number of drinking _buddies_ in his possession he can count on one finger -- soon to be two. Inohara would be another if he could hold his liquor.

Kokubun doesn't answer his door when they get to his house, despite the loud knocking and phone calls and knowledge that Kokubun should be home -- he likes to catch soccer matches during their live broadcast, and Joshima can usually convince him to go out for drinks as soon as the last whistle has been blown.

Joshima excuses himself and searches for the spare key Kokubun keeps under the doormat just to find it missing. He puts on a frown that matches Sakamoto's, and together they knock one more time before trying the doorknob -- already unlocked.

As soon as Sakamoto walks into the house, his footsteps echoing into the cold space around them, he knows what they're going to find.

Kokubun's body is hanging from the living room ceiling, a nondescript silk tie fastened around a light fixture. He has a knife sticking out of his side, just below his heart, and the blood's stained its way down his clothes and onto the floor, pooling beneath him.

Sakamoto calls the police, but as soon as he hears a voice on the other end of the line, he finds that he's lost his words. He hasn't had them for weeks now.

~

Kokubun's death, even in such a small, ostensibly friendly town, doesn't result in much. It doesn't result in anything at all, really; no uproar, no fanfare, no ripples in the water. Sakamoto turns on the morning news, and there's no mention of a murder even though at this point the whole town knows about it.

Sakamoto goes out for groceries and passes by Kokubun's house. There's caution tape up, but no movement otherwise. The other town residents passing by don't give it a second glance, more interested in playing on their phones or staring at the sky as they always do.

The discomfort of being in this town strikes Sakamoto in the gut, on the left side, just below his heart. It's so warm and familiar and tediously ordinary that Sakamoto thinks, as he often does, that it must be anything but.

~

The town historian's office is headed by another one of Sakamoto's high school classmates, Nagano. They had been close friends all those years ago, but after Sakamoto left and then returned, he'd found that much had changed about their relationship.

Nagano is now a town official, and he keeps the interests of the town in mind as he goes about his daily life. Where Sakamoto's interactions with him used to be buoyant and lively, they're now plain and grey. Sakamoto understands, though. Leaving the town and coming back has given him the valuable perspective he needs to see the town from the outside. He notices more than ever how uncomfortably aligned everything is, and he feels even more keenly how inherent the pressure to conform is when they're living in a panopticon of a town.

Nagano smiles an empty smile when Sakamoto walks through the door. Sakamoto thinks that he sees a little glimmer of familiarity in the way his eyes light up, traces of a real friendship long left behind, but these days, it never amounts to more than that.

Sakamoto sets down his bag of groceries and leans into the reception desk. Nagano warns him without preamble that he can't help as much as he'd like. The official excuse is that town documents are already available to the public, and that classified documents can only be accessed when they're of direct relevance to a case. Of course, it's the classified documents that actually have the information he'd want -- full reports and meeting minutes about the decisions made in the name of preserving the town's "public image" and "sense of security". Sakamoto learns about Kokubun's death before he gets a chance to wonder: suicide, even if he didn't do it to himself, even if the town drove him to it. Sakamoto nods, and Nagano nods back, his smile strained, almost desperate.

Patting Nagano on the shoulder, Sakamoto silently retrieves a bowl of curry udon from his grocery bag and places it on the reception desk before heading out the door.

Sakamoto is the face of the evening news. He's allowed to have an outsider's perspective, to be the town's main information dump, to see its flaws and -- if possible -- to use them to his advantage.

Nagano is part of the system. He isn't nearly as lucky.

~

The only reason anyone notices that Joshima's dead is because the smell of his apartment makes its way across the hall, upsetting the neighbors. In actuality, the majority of the town has already known that Joshima's been dead for days, probably even had a hand in it, but the official report says that he was discovered drowned in his bathtub, a most unfortunate accident.

When the residents of the town turn on the news that evening, they're greeted by Sakurai Sho, eyes bright, reporting on the weather forecast for the next few days.

The investigation about the newcomer stops abruptly because no one's there to do anything with it. The town decides to let it go, and eventually the town comes to embrace him, the newcomer who really is nothing more than just a visitor from the neighboring city.

Sakamoto's body is never found, but no one's looking for it anyway.

~

"Yocchan, what's this?"

"Welcome home! What's what?"

"This letter from Sakamoto-san. It was sitting on the doorstep."

"What's it say?"

"I don't know, something about a town curse, warning, something... Here. Seems weird."

"... Asaka."

"What's wrong? Do you know what it's about?"

"No, no idea... I just want you to know that I love you."

"I know that already. What a strange man I married."

"That's your fault."

"I suppose that's true. Where's the baby?"

"He's asleep already."

"You worked hard, didn't you? Let's greet him together in the morning."

"... sure. Yeah, let's do that."  



End file.
